The Mightiest Sword
by Isabella Koulton
Summary: Grace held the entire life of a human being in the pages of her book. A man who hunted demons and monsters, a man who had lost so much - hope, joy, love. This man was not the mere character she assumed. This man that had risen from the depths of her mind was all too real. And Dean Winchester is coming for her.
1. Prolougue - The Man

The man was finally beginning to take shape, as her pencil flew swiftly across the soft pages of her book. His brown hair was ruffled, but that perfect kind of ruffled that implies hours of adjustments in front of a mirror, though Grace knew perfectly well that this was not the case. Don't bother asking her how she knew, she just _did_. She also knew the exact shape of his jaw-line, and the way he moved it when he became angry. She knew the way his green eyes flashed when faced with the man in the trench coat, and the smile that only his little (well, not _little_) brother could spread across his battle-hardened face.

She also knew his pain, his incredible pain. She knew that every time he looked at his brother it roared up like a beast inside of him, clawing at his insides with its sharp talons. This was a rather significant amount to know about a motionless figure on her page, but if you flipped the pages back, you would find countless pictures of this man. Grace knew that she held the entire life of a human being in her hands. A strange human. A man who hunted demons and monsters, a man who had fought too many wars, lost too many people, and seen more horrific things than any man should ever see in their lifetime. But what she did not know that this man that has taken shape within her mind was not just a particularly detailed piece of imagination, Dean Winchester was all too real.

* * *

**_Thanks for reading guys! I hope you keep on going - if you don't I understand but I would really appreciate a review with some constructive criticism! If you liked it then it would also be awesome to hear from you :) Thanks again for reading!_**

**_-Bella_**


	2. Chapter 1 - Grace

The window ledge bumped uncomfortably against her back as the bus rolled down the street. She ignored it, this was the only way she could sit without anyone seeing her drawings. She didn't know why she couldn't let anyone see them, they were very good, and she knew it. Something in her screamed that these pictures were private, important even.

"Oi, Grace!" shouted a voice from behind her chair, "Grace!"

"Angus, I am _so_ done with your shit today" She replied.

He lent his face on her chair, with his biceps coincidentally very visible from where she was sitting, "Just wanted to say hello" he said, his head bouncing up and down as his jaw sat on the rough fabric of the chair.

She mumbled a reply, focusing on her work, as Angus reached out to grab her book. "Oi!" she snapped at him, snatching the precious pages from his grip.

"Calm the fuck down Grace, it's just a book," he said, rolling his eyes at her. She stuffed it into her bag and knelt on her chair to face him.

"Oh yeh?" She said, their faces were suddenly very close. She could smell his breath on her face, it wasn't amazing, but she knew, when it came to guys, it got a lot worse.

"Yep" he said as he pulled her head towards his, kissing her. She let him, well, she kissed back a bit, but that was kind of what was expected. As his fingers entangled themselves in her long brown hair, she couldn't help thinking of the man in her drawings. Not kissing the man of course, Grace knew he was over quite a bit over thirty and way too old for her. No, she thought of his bravery and his courage as she put the obligatory hands behind his neck as they continued to kiss. She could never be that brave.

He broke away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with one hand, while another was doing something slightly less innocent. "Like your dress" he said in a tone that made it very clear he did not give a fuck about the intricate floral pattern of her dress, but rather the gaping neckline and the scandalous length.

"Thanks" she replied sarcastically as he slumped back into his chair, high fiving his mates and talking about whatever guys talk about. The rest of the bus quickly averted their eyes as she turned and sat back in her seat. Of course everyone had been watching them, they were what a teen magazine would call an 'it' couple. He was the quarterback, and the entire school worshipped the ground he walked on, and she; well, she was pretty.

She was a lot of other things too, but they hardly counted when you were pretty. Grace knew she was shallow, but she also knew that that was how the world worked. No-one cared about her near-perfect GPA, or her drawing skills. She was hot though, so she mattered. And at her school, she mattered a lot.

She and her a-list boyfriend were a walking cliché, Grace knew it, but she didn't care. The boy who draped his arm so possessively around her made her royalty at North Lakes High. She liked the attention, the way she knew every guy in the school would beg on their knees do go out with her if they weren't so terrified of her bulked up boyfriend. At least, she thought she liked it. Of course she liked it. Who wouldn't _love_ that?


	3. Chapter 2 - Fire

Grace was sitting on her bed, trying to study - emphasis on the trying. She didn't really need to study, but she did. The little red A's on her papers made her feel like a human again, like she was something other than Angus's girlfriend.

Her little black book called to her from the corner of her bed, and she longed to place the images that danced around in her head on the beautiful pages of her book, to make sense of them, to figure out the story of the man that graced her dreams, and plagued her nightmares. The man who felt so much hurt that the ache seemed to rest within her own chest, seemed to blacken her heart as it has blackened his.

Sometimes Grace worried about her emotional connection with what she thought to be a fictional man, the way it often seemed that she was feeling exactly what he was feeling, somewhere in the world. The way she felt as though she might have to tear her heart from her chest to be rid of the pain, the way she ached to shut her eyes and not see the gruesome and horrible things that this man had seen. She could not understand where these feelings were coming from, or understand why they invade her body every moment of every day and every night. But she soon would know a little of the truth, in fact, a piece of the puzzle just knocked over a lamp in her living room.

Her head jerked up at the noise. It was well past midnight and her father should be asleep. If you could call him a dad. She was adopted when she was ten, the mayor thought it would look good to save a poor helpless child from the foster system. She had been ignored for the past five years of her life, but she was used to it, used to being a guest in other people's homes, meaning nothing more than a pay day. Nothing had changed when her father 'rescued' her.

She crept towards her bedroom door, her hand pausing on the door handle as she heard voices in the hallway.

"Azazel" spoke a voice, menacing and low.

Her heart leapt from her chest, as she gasped loudly at the sound. She had never heard him speak before, but she _knew_. The man in her drawings was outside her door. Footsteps began towards her door as she realised too late just how loud her reaction to the voice had been.

"Azazel, whoever is in there has _nothing_ to do with this" Spoke the voice. Grace clamped her hand over her mouth and backed away from the door.

A second voice spoke, and her eyes widened as she recognised the voice of her father, "Azazel" he laughed, "Yes, that is me, in a manner of speaking. But you see, I am so much more than that." He laughed at something.

"Where do you think demons go when they die? Surely you didn't assume their souls just blink out of existence? No, where you sent me was a hell that far surpasses Crowley's domain. And I conquered it. Its power rages within me, and as I crawled from its fiery depths, I thought of one thing. Plunging this knife into your neck, Dean Winchester, and watching as the blood rushes to the ground. I want to see the light in your eyes, the light of good, of courage, I want to see it as it flickers to darkness, to death. And I will get it. But not today, today I am here for the girl." Grace felt the sting of tears as she heard footsteps approach her room.

She heard a shout, almost a battle cry, from a third voice she also instinctively recognised.

"You think you can hurt me Sam?" Laughed the voice that Grace now knew did not belong to the mayor of North Lakes. "I make old Lucifer looks like a child throwing a temper tantrum"

"Sammy!" Dean shouted before a loud bang caused the floor beneath her feet to shake.

Grace froze as her door handle began to turn. White-hot fear laced her every muscle as she felt warm tears on her hand that still clamped her mouth. A man stood behind her opening door, a sickening smile stretched across his features. It was her father - Grace could tell - but she could somehow see beneath his skin, see twisted flesh and mangled bones beneath dry-cleaned business suit. It made her head ache to look at him, but she could not stop. His eyes were ablaze with a yellow fire that sent terror racing through every fibre of her being. He began towards her, and she screamed.

It was a terrible, all-consuming shriek. She felt the the fear, the paralyzing panic explode from her as she fell to her knees, sending a shock wave from her body in flash of brilliant light.

It was fire. And oh how it burned. It raged within her, an inferno of light, a pure white light that conquers all that is dark. The flames consumed all the pain, the suffering and through the scolding burn of the fire, Grace felt joy. Pure, unadulterated joy that rose within her like a bird and threatened to burst from her soul in a fiery explosion.

And then it was gone. Her world faded to black as she saw two men race towards her. She knew these men - their hobbies, their experiences, even the shampoo they used. They were her characters, the ones she loved, the ones she poured her heart and soul into capturing through pen and paper.

"My book" she whispered, as she fell into nothing.


	4. Chapter 3 - The Wind Howls

_"Saving People, Hunting things, the family business"_

_An old car cruising down a highway._

_"SAMMY"_

_The path to hell_

_"I was ready to die Dean!"_

_ The roads of Heaven._

_ "I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition"_

_ The screams of the dying_

_ "We're not stronger when we're together - I think we're weaker. Because what we have - love, family, whatever it is - they are always gonna use it against us. We're better off apart."_

_The clang of the amulet as it fell._

_"We're all we got. More than that, we keep each other human."_

_The pain of the innocent._

_"Whatever you do, you will always end up... here. No matter what choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up... here."_

_Oh how the wind howls._

_Darkness._

Her eyes snapped open and she burst upright, her unfamiliar surroundings sending shivers down her spine. She did not make the mistake many of the characters in her books made, assuming the horrific things they had seen were nothing more than a terrible nightmare. Grace had learnt long ago the difference between sleeping and waking. Day made sense, things happened in order, time flowing from A to B without a hitch. Night had no such simplicity. Her sleep was plagued by snippets of a story she knew so well, clips from the life of a man she had – until the previous night- assumed to be a figment of her imagination

"Grace? Is it?" said a man who sitting in a chair by her bed. His hair was ruffled and his eyes bloodshot, and by the look of his position in the chair he had been sleeping on it.

And Grace _knew _him. His hair that sat perfectly at his shoulders and his big brown eyes. Everything about him was familiar, his broad shoulders and his ridiculously long legs – even his plaid shirt.

And it scared her. Terrified her, even. At his voice she screamed and scrambled to be rid of the covers that were suddenly suffocating her legs. She got out of the bed and realised he was blocking the door.

"It's okay Grace, we're not going to hurt you, my name is Sam" said Sam gently, rising from the chair and holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. No - not gently, very, very condescendingly. She would have rolled her eyes if her head wasn't throbbing the way it was.

"You _can't _be real" she said, pointing an accusing finger at him, "You, are a character in my book. I _created _you" Deep down she knew her words were untrue, she had always known that there was more to these man than pencil on a page. But this?

"Your book?" Sam inquired, still speaking to her like she was six, "You mean this?" He produced a black book, it was simple – Cheap, plastic cover with the roughest paper that ripped if you tried an eraser on it. But to Grace, it was her most precious possession. This book was the only thing she truly cared about. No-one in her world loved her in the slightest, and she knew it. Her father saw her for a total of an hour a week, and her boyfriend most certainly didn't date her for those reasons. Her friends were more like competition, truly opening up to any one of them was a death sentence in terms of the high school hierarchy. She was alone, so very alone.

But she felt Dean's love. For a man who had been through so much in his life - been thrown around like a pawn by those who assumed they could do so – he was so full of love. Love for his parents, both of whom gone, love for the people they had met along the way. And love for Sam. The kind of love that would lead you to the ends of the earth, and convince you to jump off. Sam was everything to Dean. And they were both real.

The realisation caused her head to spin. _Real_. These people were _real_. Her very next thought caused her to stumble backwards into the armchair that Sam had just vacated – _How_?

Sam rushed to bend down in front of her, "Are you alright? Grace?"

"Yeh," she said quietly as she began to regain sense, "Yeh, just vertigo"

Sam hurried to the door and wrenched it open, "Dean! She's awake!"

Over his shoulder she could see a marble hallway, with torches attached to the walls. She realised with a jolt that was in the bunker. She knew the bunker from her pictures, the cold stone floors and the lavish furniture. She was in the only home the brothers had ever had. A smile spread across her face as she felt the warmth and safety that Dean associated with this place.

Footsteps echoed down the stone hallway before Dean appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily.

"Grace? That's your name right? You're safe now, we're not going to h-"

"Hurt me. I get it." Grace interrupted. Why did they keep saying that?

Of course they weren't going to hurt her. The brothers that littered her book were the good guys, they killed the things that haunted the nightmares of children and adults alike.

The things was, they haunted _her _nightmares. The things they had done, they _horrible_ things they had done. The human death toll of their hunts was in the hundreds, vessels and bystanders alike. They killed so _easily_, it was second nature to them now. And though she would never admit it, that scared her.

"My book" she whispered as she realised Sam still held it in her hand.

"My book" she said, louder now as she stood and reached to grab it.

"Wait," said Sam as he ripped it away before she could grab it, "We've had a look through here, and we think we know why you've been drawing us"

Her eyes widened in horror, they looked through her book?

"Grace, we think you are a prophet." Dean spoke finally. His voice had none of the patronizing tone Sam had been displaying since she woke, and she liked it.

"Like, of God?" She asked

"Yes, of God." Said Sam gently, as if he were talking to a small child who had grazed their knee.

She flopped backwards onto the bed, lying facing the roof. A prophet of the Lord. Like that guy Sam killed. And the other guy who wrote the books about Sam and Dean. Grace realised with a shock the attrition rate amongst prophets. "Great" she said sarcastically as she rose into a sitting position. "Just perfect."


	5. Chapter 4 - Souls

Grace choked on her water "I'm _where_?" she asked.

"Kansas" repeated Dean, appearing bored.

They were in the main room of the bunker, the long wooden table stretched out before her as Dean rested with his feet on the table, reading some kind of book.

"You drove me 15 fucking hours? How the hell did I not wake up?" Grace said, her voice reaching a dangerously high pitch. Anyone who knew her would back off right now, maybe get her some chocolate. But, unfortunately for them, the Winchesters did not know her.

"Grace, we had to get you out of there, demons were already swarming your house when we drove off. You were out cold." Sam said gently.

Something inside of her snapped. Her entire world have fallen apart around her and Sam was _not_ helping, "Sam, I have had it up to fucking here," her hand was indicating a perilously high level, "with you talking to me like I am five. I am fifteen years old and I have just been driven across five fucking states without my permission. I may have killed my dad with whatever magic shit I blasted at the demon who _inhabited his body_, and two people who I have drawn pictures of for the last five years of my life have shown up at my door and fucking _kidnapped_ me. Forgive me if I am freaking out!"

Grace took great satisfaction in the look on Sam's face when he turned to look at his brother. Dean was smiling as he shut his book, placed it on the table and looked at her.

Looking into his green eyes, everything he was feeling hit her so suddenly she flinched. She couldn't read his mind, she wasn't fucking Edward Cullen – but his emotions crashed into her with such force she rocked backwards in her place. While his face was the picture of amusement and contentment, what caused her eyes to swim with tears was the pain. She had felt it before, but to have him stand infront of her, looking at her with those eyes made it so much worse. She crumpled to her knees, clawing at her chest. Many times she had thought of ripping her heart out to be rid of the agony, but only now had she actually attempted it. The hurt, the guilt, the loss - it was excruciating.

Her nails had drawn blood when suddenly her hands were ripped from her chest.

"No!" she sobbed as she fought the hands that gripped her wrists, suddenly she was aware of Dean kneeling beside her, his green eyes a mirror of the pain that was consuming her so completely.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as he pulled her into a hug, "I'm so sorry."

"What for?" he asked, his voice blanketed with confusion.

"I feel it Dean" she sobbed as she pulled away, his hand still held her arm as she placed her hand over his heart "I feel the pain of all that you have lost and it _kills _me. How do you do it? Live here with Sam and put a smile on your face and pretend it is all okay?" She stood up and backed away from him, tears still trailing down her face.

"Grace," he said, standing up and walking after her, "What do you mean you feel it? How?"

"I don't know! I just thought that I had a _really _good imagination. Now you are standing in front of me, and it makes it everything so _real_ and I just can't-"

"Shhhh" said Dean and he walked towards her and pulled her to his chest as she sobbed into his grey t-shirt. She heard him talking to Sam, "Call Cas." he said.

Dean put his hands on her shoulders and bent down so his eyes were level with hers. "Grace, I don't know why this is happening to you, but I am the one who should be sorry. And I swear to god I will make it stop. Okay?"

She nodded. He went to find a stone a dropped it onto the table. "Can you read this?" he asked her.

She shook her head. It was a rock with strange markings on it. She felt a connection to the tablet, as if it somehow belonged to her. But she could not make sense of the script.

Dean sighed and paced away from her, obviously thinking about something.

There was a knock at the door. Dean raced up the stairs to welcome in a man she also knew from her drawings. He was a man, but beneath his trench coat he glowed with a fire similar to what had consumed her in her bedroom when faced with the demon.

She stumbled backwards. His light was so blinding she had to put a hand up to shield her face.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked her as the glowing man followed him down the stairs.

"Can't you see it?" she said, squinting through her fingers, "He's on fire!"

The man's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion and then rose in understanding as he said, "You can see my soul" He moved so fast she barely saw it, but suddenly she was pinned against a wall, the man's face so close that his light forced her to shut her eyes.

"Cas! What the hell?" she heard Dean shout.

"She can see my soul" spoke the man, "Humans cannot see souls" he said menacingly

Through her eyelids she saw the light dim and she opened her eyes to see Dean dragging Cas off her. They both seemed very aware of Dean's hand gripping the front of Cas's shirt. "She is a monster! Or a demon! Her soul isn't human!" yelled Cas.

Still pressed back against the wall, Grace was breathing heavily. Not human?

"She is a prophet!" Dean yelled, his face inches from Cas's, "She drew pictures of our _entire freaking lives_, and then some!" He released Cas and went to pick up the book from where is rested of the table and hold it up. "There is stuff in here that only Sam and I knew about! There is stuff in here that hasn't even happened yet! And considering she has been drinking holy water for the last hour I would say she is human." Grace's eyes flew to the glass she had left sitting on the table. "She's a prophet Cas." He finished, his rage leaking away.

"What about my soul though? What do you mean I'm not human?" Grace asked, advancing on Cas.

"Your soul, it's….it's different. It looks human, but it's brighter. It's on fire." said Cas, panting heavily from his encounter.

"Like yours?" She asked.

"Yes. Like mine. That's the problem."


	6. Chapter 5 - Strong

_Three Months Later_

"Oi! Dean I'm going on a run!" She yelled as she scaled the stairs that led to the bunker exit.

Dean looked up from his the sandwich he was eating, and when he spoke his mouth was full of food, "Why? We have a treadmill in the gym Grace."

"One." She said, indicating the number on her fingers, "You are a pig Dean Winchester, I mean _seriously_. Swallow. And two, _some_ people like going _outside_. You know, to do stuff _other _than stabbing things.

He through a napkin at her. "Stabbing things is fun" he said, still chewing.

"Famous last words" she replied, as she shut the door behind her.

She was running. The crunch of the gravel beneath her feet struck a beat with her deep breaths as she pushed her legs to move faster. She flying down the hill, and she could feel the cold air in her throat as she inhaled quickly to feed her rapidly beating heart. She broke into a final sprint before touching the tree that marked her finish point. Breathing deeply, she leant against the tree and enjoyed her surroundings.

She was on the edge of a simple gravel path that lead away from the bunker. The path was lined with forest, and the sunset was barely visible over the trees.

And suddenly hands grabbed her from behind. She was pulled into the forest by strong arms, and no matter how hard she struggled the bruising grip remained firm. She was tossed to the ground, and immediately she got to her feet and ran. She didn't make it far, she was exhausted from her exercise and this man was too fast. Pushed up against a tree, she saw the face of her assailant.

Driving around the country hunting monsters for 3 months can lead a person to expect every bad thing in the world to have two heads and flesh-eating tendencies. Grace had forgotten that there were bad humans out there. Bad humans who did bad things.

That was why she was surprised when her attacker looked at her with normal, non-black eyes and was very obviously not hiding a second head.

"You're human!" She stated incredulously, as she struggled against the hands that were tying her to the rough tree trunk with a blue hoodie.

"Duh" he said. "Now shut up and you might live."

And then he kissed her.

She tried to scream, but it turns out a mouth makes a pretty effective gag. Her stomach lurched as his hands began to wander. He spoke between breaths as her eyes welled with tears.

"Who wanders around alone on a dodgy road like this? You were asking for it. Stop crying," He looked up at her, his gleeful smile making her sick, "we both know you like it" he laughed.

She sobbed even louder as hands began to travel below her sports bra. He hit her with his free hand. "Shut up," he snapped as he pushed her shorts down to her ankles.

He pulled away from her and left her standing there in her underwear, bound to the tree as he began to remove his own clothing. She screamed even louder.

"The town is an hour away dumb bitch." He said, "I don't even know why you are all the way out here. Good luck for me I guess."

He was finished with his clothes now, and he began to slide his hands towards her arse as she shut her eyes. And suddenly his hand was gone. She heard him screaming as she opened her eyes to see Sam pinning him to the ground, punching him repeatedly.

Dean hurried to untie her before giving her his shirt, her clothing wet and ruined on the ground. The shirt was so big it made a dress on her, but she still felt exposed. Too exposed. She continued to cry as Dean hugged her and Sam made an anonymous 911 call over the limp body of her attacker.

"You're okay Grace. You're fine." said Dean, his rough voice comforting her a little.

But she wasn't fine. And right now, she didn't think she would ever be fine again.

_One Week Later_

She punched the bag until her wrists hurt and her knuckles were raw and bleeding. Despite her best efforts, the boxing bag barely rocked in it's place. She kicked it. Still no movement.

She cried out in frustration as she pounded the bag even harder, tears beginning to roll down her face.

"I AM NOT WEAK!" she screamed at the bag, as if it were what was causing all her pain.

Her arms were still bruised from the hands that had clutched them, and he every fiber of her being felt _wrong_ after he had touched her.

"I am not weak" she repeated quietly as tears tracked down her cheeks.

But she _was_ weak, she had struggled all she could but she was bested. She was a damsel in distress who had needed to be saved from the monster.

"NO" she shouted at the bag. "I DO NOT NEED SAVING"

But she did. She was saved by Sam and Dean. And although she was grateful - she felt so useless. She was not going to be useless. She was going to fight.

As she continued to pummel the bag she relived what had happened to her. She felt the hands on her. She felt his tongue in her mouth and she almost gagged. When she slept, she was plagued with nightmares about what could have happened. What he could have done to her.

"You're doing it wrong." said a voice from behind her. She turned, and Dean was standing in the gym doorway, looking at her.

She was a pitiful sight. She was dripping with sweat and tears, and her eyes were red and puffy from a week's worth of crying.

"Don't put your thumb inside your wrist, you'll break it. Not that you are hitting it anywhere near hard enough." He approached her and showed her how to stand, how to move her feet.

They were at it for hours. Sam tried to convince them to go to bed but neither of them were having any of it. Not once did he ask her why she was so desperate to learn. She guessed he understood what it felt like to _need_ to be strong.

When the sun rose, they were sparring, and despite her exhaustion, emotional and physical, she was getting a few hits in. Though Dean was not one for compliments, she could tell he was impressed.

She felt better. Often people underestimate the power of feeling better. People needed to be cured, to be free of all pain - to be whole again. But better was good. Better gave hope. And that's what she needed most of all. Hope.


	7. Chapter 6 - Forget

_One year later_

"Grace!" gasped Dean indignantly, "No feet on the leather!"

Grace rolled her eyes, and didn't even bother telling Dean to look at the road. The man seemed to have eyes on the side of his head.

She was sitting in the Impala, and yes - _shock horror_ - her feet were resting on the leather seat as she leant back against the window. He book sat in her lap, and an intricate drawing of their recent hunt was unfolding in lead pencil before her.

In her hand was a knife. She was mid-jump, her hair flowed behind her and her knife was raised, poised to begin a masterful arc downwards, ending embedded in the chest of the monster that had stood, ready for the kill.

Grace had been a quick learner, picking up the art of killing from Dean, at what Sam perceived to be an alarming rate for a 16-year-old. Grace didn't care. She was strong. She was powerful. And she most certainly did not need protection.

They had been driving for ten hours, Grace slept through three, the rest she was left staring out the window, watching the world go past.

She was used to long car rides. She had been shipped across the country from foster home to foster home, her life spent sleeping on couches and in guest bedrooms. She had never had a home. Until one year ago. Now you are probably preparing yourself for some cheesy story about how Grace finally found a home with the Winchesters, and they became a big happy family and lived happily ever after, and the truth is, Grace had a home with the Winchesters. And a family. But she found a lot more than that. She found pain and suffering. She discovered loss and grief beyond what any human should have to experience, let alone a 15-year-old girl. What lay in store for her was responsibility far beyond what most could shoulder, and a terrible burden that she must bear.

Already Grace has begun to learn of what pain truly means. The fire that consumed her on that night in her room over a year ago still haunted her nightmares, but was the supporting act for her most painful dream. A memory of a day in the woods still left her shaking and sobbing in her bed, feeling unclean and violated in her own bedroom.

Grace got through it knowing that no-one could ever hurt her again. She was tough, and no-one could touch her and live to tell the tale. She was a fighter

They finally pulled into the road that led to the bunker. They drove past the spot where _it_ happened. Grace stared resolutely forward. Forget.

She was becoming very good at forgetting. Forget that she was a freak, that she could blast crazy beams of light at people, at demons. Forget she had no parents. Forget that she didn't even have a surname, not one of her own. Forget.

The headlights shone upon the ruined exterior of her home, and she clambered out of the car. An exhausted Sam and Dean followed her into the dark bunker as she again though of what she would do if she were again in that spot in the woods, with that man. The pain she could inflict. Sam jolted her from her fantasy as he flipped a switch and the light flickered on, revealing Cas sitting the table, reading a book of some sort. The angel did not look up as they entered the room, but instead spoke.

"I found the prophet" he said matter of factually.

All three of their heads snapped up. "So…. I'm not a prophet?" said Grace, "I mean there can be only one at once right?"

"I knew when I looked at you that you weren't a prophet. It was Sam and Dean who held onto that theory." stated Cas, still flipping through the pages of his book.

"How else do we explain her?" Dean said, gesturing towards Grace. Dean always had such tact.

Cas shrugged. "We must leave now, we must bring the boy here."

"Boy? How old is he?" Asked Grace.

Dean rolled his eyes as Cas answered, "Seventeen, I believe."

Grace groaned, "Great. A teenage boy. Just what I need." As she slumped into a chair.

Now, as a reader, around this point you are probably groaning dramatically. I can't blame you. "Oh no!" you despair, as you anticipate the gripping, stereotypical YA romance about to be shoved down your throats, the usual occurrence when a teenage boy is introduced into the world of a young female protagonist. But haven't you learnt yet? Grace doesn't have that sort of luck.

The boy that returns three hours later stumbles through the doorway, covered and blood and swearing non-stop about how he was magically teleported from his bedroom. Grace rolled his eyes. At least _he _didn't shoot magic laser beams at his dad. Well, she guessed he didn't. She assumed what had happened that night - a full year ago now - had been a fairly isolated incident.

He stopped at the railing, looking around the bunker, in awe. Grace tried her hardest to appear bored, but she couldn't help but admire his face. And his white Pajama shirt that was almost see-through, if you looked at it hard enough.

He looked at her, noticing her gaze, so she yawned very convincingly and picked up another piece of the pizza she had had delivered while she waited for their return. She saw his body language change, from 'Freaking the fuck out' to a stance that seemed to be an epidemic amongst adolescent boys, the 'Holy fuck it's a female'. She, being the majestic creature she is, proceeded to get pizza sauce on her sleeve, "shit" she whispered under her breath as she wiped it on her pants, him watching her incredulously all the while.

What an idyllic romance.

"Hi," he said, his arrogance reminding her of her ex-boyfriend, Angus. It was not a good sort of remind. "The name's Tom"

She rolled her eyes. "Grace." She said simply, standing to face him. His brown eyes stood quite a bit above hers, making her feel small. A pulse of fear ran through her body as she saw his muscles through his shirt. The spot where arms had gripped her over a year ago throbbed as she balled up her fists instinctively. _I am strong_ she thought, _he can't touch _me. His hair was stuck up at odd angles, and his pants were fleecy and had pictures of rocket ships on them. Her fear melted away. He was an ordinary teenage boy. An ordinary teenage boy, whose head she could crush between her hands like play dough - if she felt like it. And who knows. One day she might feel like it. Teenage boys could be very annoying.


	8. Chapter 7 - Remember

"You're kidding right?" she asked, looking from Sam to Dean imploringly, waiting for the joke to be clear in their eyes. "You want me to stay here? With Tom?"

Tom was an idiot. Grace, having quite an extensive history with adolescent males, had had her fair share of idiots in her lifetime, and she had no desire become the person she used to be, the person who dated idiots. Idiots like Tom.

Tom, being of the male species, had quickly realized that she was the only female in a fifty mile radius. You can probably guess the result. The kind of patronizing and disgusting flirting that guys thought was attractive, but in actuality, was going to get Tom decked very, very soon if he wasn't careful.

"We can hardly leave Tom here alone! He's done anything but prove himself trust-worthy." Sam told her, "and we can't bring him with us. At _best_, he'd get himself killed"

She knew Sam was right. Sam is usually right about this sort of grown-up, responsibility stuff. It still sucked.

An hour later she was still sitting in the kitchen, sulking. Sam and Dean having driven away to deal with some low-grade shapeshifter a few towns over.

Looking up from her latest sketch in her book, she saw Tom stride into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway as he spoke, "I'm hungry".

Grace rolled her eyes as she anticipated the passage of this conversation. "Hi hungry, I'm Grace."

He was looking at her, doing that weird thing that boys sometimes do in an effort to be attractive, furrowing his eyebrows together and tilting their head downwards – only succeeding in looking extremely confused, which Grace was pretty sure was not the goal. Grace found herself wondering how all boys managed to catch this horrible habit; was it instinctive? Or did they pass it on to one another, in some misguided attempt to help their mates. Whatever it was, it was not remotely hot. Not in the slightest. Not at all. Nope.

"What are you, 40?" He laughed at his own extreme hilarity. "What do I have to do to get some food around here?"

"Make some food, I suppose." Grace shrugged.

He look extremely alarmed at the prospect of (gasp) _making food_. "What? I - "

"You know what?" She interrupted, "I'm hungry too. Why don't you make us both dinner?"

His mouth opened and shut hilariously, like people sometimes did in TV shows. She laughed at him, and he seemed to regain his composure as a nasty look crossed over his face, "Why should _I _cook?" he sneered, "_you're_ the chick."

Regret seemd to spread over his face, his mouth opened, probably in apology. But it was too late. She moved like lightening, her fist connecting with his face in an instant, slamming him to the ground.

"What the fuck! You crazy Bitch!" He yelled, dabbing his bleeding lip with his fingers.

She grabbed the front of his shirt, lifting his well built, heavy body from the ground and slamming it into the wall.

"You fucking asshole" she spat. She knew he had nature on his side, possessing much more testosterone than she did. She was faster and more skilled, but if he got her pinned down, she was screwed, and she knew she had about eight seconds until he figured this out and retaliated. "Now, why down you get back into the kitchen and make me a fucking sandwich." One final shove, then she stepped away from him and walked straight out of the door, smiling to herself all the way.

She was eating the worst sandwich ever created. She didn't even want to know what was in it.

"Well," she sighed, having taken her first bite five minutes ago, she found herself unable to gather the courage for a second. "A for effort?"

He threw his barely nibbled at meal back onto his plate in frustration. She smiled. His pain amused her.

She got up, heading for the freezer and pulling out a pizza, sticking it in the oven and setting the timer. "Get up loser. You wash, I'll dry." She said.

He got up and looked at the sink that Grace had filled with suds, holding his plate in his hand. He dunked the plate in, and in doing so he managed to splash soapy water all over her.

She could see the laughter he was holding back in his eyes, but she could also tell he was scared of her, of her reaction. Good. This guy had _some_ common sense at least. She tried not to smile as she shouted, "You dick! Bloody hell I'm soaked." She sighed, "I wash, _you _dry." She said pushing him out of her way.

Now that the threat of violence was apparently gone, Tom began to laugh. Seeing her opening, Grace threw a handful of soapy bubbles into his mouth. His laughter quickly turned to coughs as he tried to spit all of the soap out.

He retaliated by dunking a glass full of water on her head. She stopped. "You fucking didn't." She said, in all seriousness. The smile faded from his face, as he apparently thought he had gone too far. She stalked over to the sink, turned on the tap and began to wash the suds from her arms. "You fuc-" a stream of water hit Tom directly in the face, her finger on the tap, directing the flow of the spurt.

In an effort to stop her assault, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her against the wall, still laughing.

All at once, they both seemed to become very aware of the few small inches that separated their faces. They stood like that for a few seconds, then, he lent in slowly, and kissed her. Panic seared through Graces body as she shoved him away, gasping for breath, and he stood there, scratching his neck awkwardly. "Sorry." He muttered.

"That's…o…..that's o-okay" She stammered, her heart racing and her head feeling faint.

He didn't seem to notice her terror as he rudely asked her "what the fuck is wrong with you?", Grace wasn't listening. She wasn't interested in his wounded ego. Images were assaulting her. She felt the hands on her all over again and hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Uhhh….. Grace?" Tom asked, stepping towards her. But she didn't see Tom. She saw that man coming at her, she felt the evening air on her exposed body. She slid down the wall and curled up into a ball, wrapping her arms around her legs, trying to protect herself from the man.

This wasn't what was supposed to happen. She was supposed to be strong. But she didn't feel strong. She felt like the scared little girl who hadn't been able to stop the hands. Sobs racked her body and she screamed, the figure - now blurred with tears – was approaching her.

"Grace? Grace what the hell." Tom said. His voice. It was nothing like the man's. Her arms flew from her legs and gripped the wall, so different from the harsh bark of the tree on that night. She breathed deeply as she remembered where she was, that she was safe.

Tom was crouched beside her, looking very freaked out.

"S—sorry" She stammered, still crying as she rose from her position. Tom hovered his hands awkwardly over her, seemingly unable to figure out how to comfort her.

Then she did something that surprised even her. She threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him. He stood there for a second, then his hands slowly rested upon her back, patting it awkwardly.

"You fucking asshole." She said, crying into his shoulder.

* * *

_**Hi Guys!**_

_**Sorry about the annoying authors note ahaha, I just reeaally want to thank you for reading! I appreciate it heaps!**_

_**Sorry about no canon characters this chapter. Once I really have these OC's developed there will be much more of your favorites :)**_

_**I hope you like these characters! They have been bouncing around in my head for years, and I love sharing them with you :) Any feedback, even just a few words in the reviews section, would be amazing.**_

_**I know this chapter took a long time, but I've just had my mid-year exams (Australian system ahaha) and I've been struggling :/**_

_**Again, a bajillion thanks to everyone who has read this. I love you all :)**_


	9. Chapter 8 - Nightmares

_One Month Later_

"I win" announced Grace, pinning Tom's arms to the ground with her legs and straddling his waist and he lay on the garishly patterned motel room carpet.

Tom gave up on his struggle, and lay on the ground panting. "Fuck you Grace" he sighed, pulling one of his arms free to look for injuries.

Grace laughed, "You wish" she said teasingly, sarcastically flinging her hair over her shoulder.

Dean chose that moment to waltz into the room, a Fast Food bag in one hand, and a half-eaten cheeseburger in the other. He looked at them and froze mid-chew.

"Ho-ly Shit." He said slowly, smiling through his food, "I'll leave you to it" he said with a smirk as he backed out of the room.

"What? Oh…. oh no Dean." Grace said, climbing off of Tom as fast as she could. "No way. That'd be… That's…..ew." She spluttered, her cheeks warming.

As she watched Tom get up, she knew he was anything but 'ew'. He had abandoned his shirt about an hour ago, as the AC-less motel room has become too hot. She had done the same, and was standing there awkwardly in just a sports bra and yoga pants. She could see how Dean had gotten the wrong idea.

As if both realising they were half naked at the exact same time, they rushed to replace their tops.

Dean was still standing in the doorway, smiling at them through a mouthful of greasy takeout. Dean had been through a lot in his life, and Grace knew better than anyone. She was somehow linked to Dean, she could feel the pain of all that had been thrust upon his shoulders. The guy had literally been to hell and back, and through her drawings she had seen the world slowly chipping away at that childish joy that was once so definitive of Dean Winchester.

Hiding behind sarcastic humour and a supposed egocentric front, Dean valued so little of himself. Grace could feel the loathing twisting through him. He placed his self-worth on others needing him, on Sam needing him. But little Sammy grew up. He became strong and independent – and he destroyed the very foundations Dean's entire reason for being. But now, Grace needed him. Grace and Tom needed him to be strong. Growing up in the world of Demons and Monsters is hard, and Dean would have given anything to protect them from it, but they were born into this nightmare, and all Dean can do is try his best to be standing between them and danger. The two kids standing awkwardly infront of him needed him, and finally, he had a purpose again.

Though the details of all this was not felt by Grace through their unexplained link, she could see the change. She saw it on his face each and every day. The fire of pain inside of him had dimmed, and she was beyond relieved for the way it dulled the pain she shared with him.

Dean dropped the food on a table just by the doorway. "Sammy and I are just next door. Don't make us regret getting you two a separate room."

"EW" she shouted after him, throwing a pillow at the door he had shut behind him.

Tom was laughing as he strode over to collect the food, reaching into the bag and handing her a hot cheeseburger.

They both sat cross legged on one of the two single beds in the room, eating and talking. About normal things. She was drawing in her book, a woman that had not quite taken shape yet. They laughed about creepy guy on the tv commercial that was playing on the cheap tv across the room. Over the past month, they had discovered that if you were comfortable enough together to beat the crap out of each other, which they did almost every day as part of Dean's "Hunter Training", then general conversation become slightly less awkward.

A huge piece of tomato fell from Grace's dinner and landed on the grossly coloured covers, leaving a red stain on the fabric, "Well, I guess this is your bed then." She stated, screwing up her wrappers and throwing them across the room. Tom began to protest, but he was silenced by her perfect aim, the wrapper has flown straight into the bin. Tom later tried the same thing and failed, but fortunately for him Grace was too tired to make fun of him for it.

"Night" she said as they both climbed into their respective beds. This was the first time Sam and Dean had trusted them with their own room, usually they had to sleep on a couch or on the floor on hunting trips. The awkwardness of two teenagers sharing a bedroom appeared to be lost on Sam, and Dean – well Dean was thoroughly amused by their awkwardness and was determined to continue it. Also Grace suspected that he kinda shipped them. Gross.

She lay in her bed, springs poking her in the bed, and the musty smell of the sheets assaulting her nose as she lay staring at the wall. Then she heard it.

_Grace_ called a voice. _Grace_.

Horror movies had taught Grace a very valuable lesson: voices whispering your name in the dark were never a good sign. Panic flared up inside of her as she sat up quickly, scanning the room. _Grace_, whispered the voice. _Grace, where are your parents?_ Her heart skipped a beat. Something about that sentence twisted inside of her. Where were her parents? She had just accepted their absence from her life as fact, but something tugged at the back of her mind. What had happened to them? _Questions, Questions Questions Grace. Why are you only asking them now? Where did the questions go Grace?_

She screamed and sobbed in her bed, her sheets entangled her legs and she cowered in fear from the monster.

Her mother come rushing through the doorway, her pyjamas still crinkled from sleep. "What is it Grace?" she asked her, sitting on her bed beside her as she stroked her hair.

"It's…it's a Monster" she said, pointing at the cupboard.

"A monster?" asked her mother, "Grace, you are too old for this. There is no such thing as monsters"

Her mother got up to open the cupboard.

"No Mommy don't!" cried the child.

The woman turned the handles on the doors and opened them.

Nothing. Her mother began to turn towards her in a, _I-told-you-so_ manner, when hands suddenly gripped her shoulders.

Then out stepped a man, his eyes burned with a terribly yellow flame as he smiled at Grace. "Aren't you a special one? What a pretty little soul you have."

The child's mother was paralysed with fear and stood there gaping, with her hand still resting on the door handle.

"And you," said the monster, looking her mother up and down "You are most inconvenient."

Then her mother, she began to fly. She flew until she lay on the roof as if she were lying in her own bed. One look at her would convince you that the world had been turned on it's head. Her stomach began to pool with red, and it dripped down to form a puddle at the foot of Grace's bed. She scrabbled from her covers and stood to face the monster.

"What have you done to my Mommy!" screamed Grace, as the monster placed a single finger on his lips.

"Run child, we will meet again."

Her mother burst into brilliant yellow flames before her eyes, and she ran.

Grace was woken with a jolt, horrible screams piercing through her terror and dragging her back to reality. She reached under her pillow and pulled a knife out, jumping from her bed and standing defensively facing the door. Only she realised the screams were coming from a bed a few feet from her. Tom was asleep, screaming and struggling with his sheets.

"NOO" he yelled, and Grace realised he was crying. She dropped the knife and rushed to wake him.

"Tom!" She screamed at him as she shook his shoulders, "Tom!"

His eyes flew open, and before she knew it he had grabbed her throat and pinned her to the ground. Grace was by far the better fighter, but Tom had by far the better biceps and once he had her pinned she could not overpower him.

"Tom" she said, but it came out as a whisper as she used her limited air.

Reason seemed to return to him all at once, and horror flashed across his face as he released her.

"Oh my god Grace, Grace I'm so sorry. Holy Crap." He said and he climbed off her and sat, leaning against his bed.

Grace sat up, rubbing her neck as she moved to sit across from him. "What the fuck Tom!" she said, breathing heavily.

"My dream," he said, "My dad was there, he had come home – drunk of course – and he started-" he stopped and looked up at Grace, taking a deep breath. "Anyway, my Dad was being a dick when his eyes," He looked up at her, his usually tough persona melting away to reveal his fear. Grace found his sudden vulnerability disconcerting and he continues to speak, "His eyes, they turned yellow Grace."

He shifted in his place as he registered the shock on her face. She moved to kneel infront of him, moving closer. "Tom, you're a prophet. Everyone's gift manifest's in a different way. Sam and Dean knew a guy who wrote books about their lives, didn't even know they were true stories. Another guy could read the word of God or something. Maybe you just have fucked up dreams." She said with a nervous laugh.

He hesitated, obviously deciding whether to tell the whole story. He sighed and said, "Grace, that's not it. My Dad, his eyes were burning bright yellow, and then he disappeared. Well - he morphed. He morphed into you. Your eyes were similar to his and you were laughing, a terrible screeching laugh that echoed through my entire body. Then I was on fire. A white, bright fire that hurt like fucking hell. That's why I strangled you. I didn't realise I had woken up."

During his recounting, Grace had sunk backwards until she was slumped against her bed. Cas had told her there was something off about her soul, that it wasn't entirely human. What if she was becoming a monster? And these yellow eyes, they were haunting both her and Tom's dreams. She assumed she had finished off the demon with whatever she had shot him with in her bedroom on that night - Sam and Dean had never brought it up again. But then again, they didn't tell her a lot of things. They were hell-bent on 'protecting' her.

She stood up and faced Tom, hiding her fear and confusion. "Just a nightmare." She said, the lie falling easily from her lips. "Nothing to worry about."

She picked up her book and flicked to her most recent drawing, a close up of a woman's face. She gasped out loud and dropped the book. She must have finished the picture earlier, absent mindedly sketching out the horror that now lay at her feet.. Her own face was staring up at her from the ground.

And her eyes were burning Gold.


	10. Chapter 9 - Flames

**Hello Everyone!**

**I am blown away by the reviews you guys have left, you have no idea how much I appreciate your comments! Please, if you see any typos, have an issue with the storyline or the characters, or you simply want to give me advice (God knows I need it) then please please review. Every comment you leave makes me a better writer :)**

**Thanks for being absolutely amazing :)**

* * *

_Screams. She could see the fire – she could _feel_ it. It licked at her flesh - it's barbed tongue ripping and tearing at her skin as she screamed and cried. She opened her eyes and saw it. Children screaming for their parents. Buildings crumbling before her. And the eyes of the possessed inflicting it all._

_The world was on fire._

She jerked awake, her head rising from Tom's shoulder just as his eyes flew open.

"Did you-" She whispered.

"Yep." He replied, and they just sat there, pondering the enormity of what they just saw.

"It's okay," she whispered, "It's probably a metaphor or something. Super cryptic you know."

Tom just nodded.

"Okay, cover stories" said Sam, eyeing the two teenagers in the back seat of the impala as it cruised along the highway.

"Why, are we nearly there?" said Grace hopefully. She loved hunting, the thrill and adrenaline of it, but the long car rides were becoming especially tedious.

"Cover Stories." Dean prompted. Seeing their blank faces staring back at him in the rear vision mirror, he continued, "If two you didn't learnt them I swear to god…."

Grace was getting kind of sick of playing a ditsy and shallow teenage girl. She could see the merit of forcing others to underestimate her, and this was a character she had perfected over years of playing dumb for her idiot boyfriend, but that girl – and that time in her life – was something she'd rather not revisit.

"Grace Johnson" she said, "Cheer captain. Shopaholic. Walking cliché." She said, placing a headphone in her ear - offering the other to Tom, who appeared to be struggling to remember what he was meant to say.

He took the headphone from Grace and put it in his ear as he said, "Tom Farah. Quarterback. Annoying. Stuck up. An even worse cliché"

Grace thought it was cute how he used grown up words like cliché and stereotype, usually right after she had used them. He was trying, she gave him credit for that.

Grace snorted, "Wouldn't require much acting" she muttered

"Well I'm supposed to _like_ you." He replied, "That's going to require an extreme amount of acting. Ow!" he said as Grace shoved him against the car door.

"Guys, seriously. We are about to hunt a supernatural monster. Can you at least _attempt _to look like you're taking this seriously?" Sam asked

Grace rolled her eyes. "Fine, what are we even hunting anyway?"

"Three teenage girls are missing. All of them bought clothing from a shop at this mall." He indicated the huge building that was growing larger as they approached, "Dean and I are doing the usual FBI drill, and you two are going to go in there and shop. Be on the lookout for anything weird"

"We know Sam, we've done this like a million times before." She said, climbing out of the car.

"You ready?" whispered Grace in Tom's ear. They had been dropped a block down the road from the mall so no-one would connect them to the two FBI agents investigating the mysterious disappearances of three young girls.

"Anndd… Action" she said, as she turned on her brightest and dopiest smile as the automatic dorrs slid open and they were blasted with the harsh air of the mall.

She did look the part. Grace maintained an excellent fashion sense throughout her demonic misadventures. Though she put a lot of effort into being a badass, she saw no reason why cute skirts and killing bad guys couldn't go together.

She had put a lot of effort into her ensemble today, straightening her hair and spending at least 30 minutes on her makeup. She had skinny jeans, coupled with some heeled boots and a coffee coloured sweater. Her necklaces and bangles jingled as the pair walked together towards the shop they were investigating.

You may be wondering how she could afford all this stuff on a hunter's budget. Though she was ashamed to admit it, Grace had become quite adept at shoplifting. Sometimes she felt guilty, but seeing as though the reason she could not get a job is that she spends all her time traveling the country saving lives, she gave herself a free pass.

Suddenly the loud clicks of her heeled boots stopped as Grace halted in her tracks. She grabbed Tom's arm and pulled him against her, backing into a wall. The poor guy looked really confused as he stood pressed against her.

"Just play along" his faced displayed an expression of pure horror, "Jesus Christ dude I'm not that ugly" she hissed at him.

He jumped for a second and then his face shifted into a look that reminded her of the night she met him. His facial expressions suggested they were flirting, but his tone was urgent as he lent a hand against the wall beside her head, "What is it? The shop we want is on the other side of the mall."

"There are at least ten demons here" she laughed, hiding the seriousness behind her statement with a ditsy giggle.

Tom's eyes widened for a second before he recovered himself. He leant closer to her so that his mouth was just beside her ear as he whispered, "What?"

"Demons. Everywhere. I can see their souls." She said into his neck, hiding her panic much more effectively than Tom. She looked over his shoulder, "Fuck, make that about twenty. They're everywhere. It's a trap Tom. They're after us. After me."

They had had a few run ins with demons over the past year, all them looking to collect a bounty on her head, placed there by someone she knew that Sam and Dean knew about, by they refused to share the information with her.

"We have to get out of here." Said Tom as he began to pull away.

She grabbed his neck and pulled him back towards her. "We can't, they have the exits covered."

"Fuck." Cursed Tom, looking around, searching for the demons he could not identify.

"It's okay, they don't know what I look like. As long as they are fairly low-class demons they won't even be able to spot the difference in my soul like Cas can. Gimme a sec, I'll call Dean." She said, pulling out her phone.

Tom seemed to relax a little, when suddenly a loud bang echoed through the mall. The crowd screamed and dropped to the ground, covering their heads instinctively. Tom and Grace did the same, Tom covering her body with his. This annoyed Grace to no end. Her instinct was to jump up and crash tackle the demon who had fired the shop, but that would get them nowhere. For now they were stuck with their high-school couple façade. And this meant Tom going all macho and shielding her. Ew.

"Everyone get in the middle" boomed a voice, "Hands on your heads!" Grace peered between Tom's arms and saw the demon that had spoken pointing a gun in the air. The crowd complied and herded into the middle, screams and cries echoing through the room as hundreds of people sat in the centre of the mall.

"Quiet!" he yelled, and immediately the terrified crowd fell silent.

"Where are Sam and Dean?" Grace muttered to Tom, looking around for them as they crouched in the huge crowd.

She heard screams and a gunshot, but she could not see what was happening. Grace refused to feel fear. Fear had been eliminated from her psyche. Weakness and Helplessness were no longer a part of her.

"Can you see them?" she asked Tom, who shook his head. "You realise this was all a trap, right?" he asked her, "There was never a case here. They lured us here."

"I don't know. Why keep an entire crowd hostage to catch a few hunters? Surely they could have just grabbed us in the parking lot. It's alot easier that wa-." She stopped suddenly

The demon who appeared to be in charge strode over to her and pointed a gun at her head.

"I SAID SILENCE" he yelled, spit landing on her face as he spoke. She cowered and leant back to Tom, choking out a fake sob as would be expected of a teenage girl in this situation.

The demon laughed and walked away as Tom put his arms protectively around her. The very word protectively made her insides twist. She took comfort in the fact that they both knew that when it came down to a fight, Grace would be the one doing the protecting.

They sat there, in terrified silence, for five long hours. Grace must have devised a hundred escape plans in her head, but not one of them involved a successful escape with zero casualties. So she simply sat there, waiting for an opportunity.

"GET UP!" barked the man in charge, and the demons who had been circling the group and bringing in those who had been able to hide, were now pointing their guns at the crowd.

Tentatively, everyone began to rise. Gripping the back of Tom's hoodie she decided to keep up her act of weakness. There was a great advantage in being take too lightly - as girls usually were.

Tom knew this too, and he reached back to put an arms around her, pulling her towards him in a defensive manner.

Ever since she was attacked that day in the woods, the very idea of needing protection, of being weak, terrified her. She was strong - and she could crush anyone who tried to touch her. The very act of being weak made her feel sick to the stomach. But it was necessary for survival. There is no point to being strong when you are dead.

The crowd was pushed and shoved towards an exit. Grace furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. Why take your prisoners outside? Even this many demons could not contain a crowd this size out in the open, and a SWAT team attack was the last thing the demons needed. People would start asking questions if the bullets didn't even make them flinch.

As they emerged, the darkness of the night shocked them - but as their eyes adjusted, horror and revulsion caused screams erupt within the assembly.

The world was on fire.


	11. Chapter 10 - Papa

_Sorry it's been ages I know! I go through phases of absolutely hating my writing, and I honestly couldn't stand to keep on going with this story. But I came back and I read all of your awesome reviews and I'm going to get back to doing what I love 3 _

_Thank you so much for all the positive stuff you guys have been saying it means the absolute world to me, and when I wake up in the morning and see all the people around the world that have read what I wrote…Well I can't even explain how amazing it feels._

_Your reviews keep me writing, so keep on giving them! If you find a mistake, have a suggestion or criticism please tell me I really want to know cause I want this story to be the very best it can be. There is no way I would still be writing if it weren't for all your encouragement, so a million thanks for your support._

_I love you all,_

_Bella_

**_Six Years Earlier_**

The girl sat on her bed, drawing on the inside cover of '_The Jungle Book'_, using a little pencil she had stolen from a boy in her class named Timothy.

Grace didn't know that stealing was bad. She had never had proper parents to teach her right and wrong, she had to make it up in her own mind – and in her mind, Timothy deserved it. He called her names because she wore the same dress to school every day, and it was dirty and smelled icky. It wasn't like it was _her_ fault her dress was nasty, mama said that she couldn't afford a new one.

When Grace finished her drawing she looked over at Mark, who slept next to her on their little bed. Mark was 15 and he knew everything. He knew all the numbers up to 1000, and he could count anything. He also knew that there were 365 days in a year, and he counted that she had been at this house for 410 days, which was more than a year. Mark said he had been at this house forever, which made Grace sad. She couldn't imagine being in a place like this forever. Mark knew lots of stories, and sometimes, when the yelling downstairs get really scary, he would tell her about witches who could turn bad people into frogs. Grace wished she was a witch, then she could turn Papa into a frog and save Mark from his temper. He also told her that in three years, when he turned 18, he could leave, and he'd take her with him. She couldn't wait.

With this happy thought, Grace decide to go to sleep. She placed her pencil aside and looked down to shut her book. What she saw made her shriek in terrified horror. She had drawn a nightmare.

Mark sat up at the sound, and pulled her sobbing body into a hug.

"Shh Gracie, I know you're scared but you have to be quiet," He soothed, "Please Grace Papa will hear!"

Grace choked back her sobs at the threat of Papa's wrath, and instead pointed at the picture book she had thrown aside. Mark reached for the book and flicked to her drawing.

"Holy shit Gracie." He whispered under his breath.

She had drawn fire, so much fire. A man rose from the flames, his body oblivious to the heat that should have consumed him. The man looked right at her, even when she shut her eyes, the yellow of his eyes stared right into her soul.

She heard the thumps of heavy, stumbling feet on the stairs. Her eyes widened as she looked at Mark in panic.

"Under the bed Gracie!" he urged, helping her off the bed and under it's frame. When she had crawled into her hiding spot, he knelt down so his head was just visible. "Stay there Gracie, not a word okay? Don't come out, you can't stop Papa." She nodded, she knew what to do, she had done it so many times before.

Mark stood as she heard the door creak open.

"WHO WOKE ME UP?" Boomed Papa.

Mark began to speak, "I'm sorry I –" _CRASH._

Grace heard Mark's cry of pain as silent tears rolled down her cheeks, her hand clamped over her mouth to stifle any sounds of distress.

"You snivelling little rat." _thump. _Mark grunted in pain.

"Do something!" yelled the drunken man, "Where is your sister?" _smack,_ "Still trying to protect her?" _crash, "_How pathetic." _Crack._ Marks screams were getting louder as Grace squeezed her eyes shut so she couldn't see the pool of blood on the floor before her.

Suddenly a hand gripped her ankle and pulled her from her hiding place. She screamed as Mark shouted at Papa to let her go. He was on the floor, his own blood soaking his clothes. His face was untouched though, Papa knew that the teachers would notice if he turned up with a black eye at school. Papa was smart, just like Mark.

Papa grabbed her hair and pulled her so she was hanging off the ground, his breath sending Goosebumps down her neck.

"Aren't you lucky," he said as she clawed at his hands, sobbing, trying to be free of his grip, "To have such a_ caring_ brother."

And with that he tossed her on the bed, the rusted springs creaking under the force of his throw. He turned his attention back to Mark who had been shouting at him from the floor, unable to get up.

"It's a pity he's so _weak." _Spat Papa as he knelt down and raised his fist for another blow.

"_NOO!"_ Screamed Grace.

Time seemed to slow down. Then she screamed, her fear bursting from her in the form of white-hot fire. The pain was unbearable as she imagined her flesh peeling and blackening from the scolding heat. But through the horror, Grace felt joy. She felt the joy of freedom for the first time in her life, and she held onto this feeling, letting it grow inside of her until it leapt from her skin, in a pure, brilliant light. And then it was gone. And then it was all gone.

**_The Present_**

The crowd writhed and twisted around Grace as people attempted to run from the strange people with the back eyes.

Tom gripped her arm, she could feel his grip struggle to hold onto her as the screaming mass pushed and shoved at each other. His face was nowhere to be seen as the crowd that had left the mall was joined with the crowd from the housing apartments and the office buildings. The entire city was being dragged onto the street by demons, for seemingly no purpose at all. She felt Tom's hand begin to slip as he cried out – barely audible above the shouts. His grip slid down her arm until their fingertips were barely clutching each other.

All of a sudden the crowd halted infront off her, and she slammed into a wall of people. Tom took advantage of the shocked people around him to grab Grace's hand and yank her towards him. She came bursting through the wall of people and slammed into him – he would have fallen over if it weren't for the tightly packed crowd that encased him.

She opened her mouth to say something but stopped when a voice rang out across the street.

"Humanity!" yelled the voice. Heads turned in all directions in order to locate the source – most eyes eventually settling on the figure that stood atop a building, too distant to fully make out. The laughter of the man echoed through the street. Haunting, terrifying laughter. The silent crowd absorbed the noise in horror, not a soul daring to make a sound.

Suddenly, the figure began to walk towards them. As it approached the ledge of the building, it did not stop, plummeting suddenly to the ground.

Screams of horror raced through the crowd as he smashed into an upturned car. The force of the landing crumpled the vehicle, the man's body hidden amongst the wreckage. Suddenly, a huge fireball lept from the rubble, engulfing those who had begun to tentatively approach it.

A figure rose from the flames, standing atop the fire.

"My name" he cried to the terrified masses, "Is Azazel"

This meant nothing to those of the crowd who had lived normal innocent lives. But hearing that word sent Grace's world spinning as she fell backwards, Tom holding her to keep her upright. This was the man that came to her home the night it all began, the night she found out that her soul was not human, that she, in truth, was not human. This man had brought out a power in her that she had tried to forget, a power so terrifying that she had never dared to reach inside herself for it, not even in her worst moments.

Her eyes blurred as she felt tears trek down her cheeks. The man, now that she could make him out was not a stranger to her. The demon had taken a new vessel, one she recognised. The very scene that was unfolding before her eyes had lain before her once before, at the tip of her pencil, on a night that, until now, had been lost to her memory. How had she forgotten?

"For too long you have enjoyed the riches of the earth, feasted on it's fruits. Yet you squander it. You fight amongst yourselves. You turn away from your creator. We have come to take what we deserve!"

The demons that encircled the crowd shouted and whistled in agreement.

"For millennia we have been punished for our sins amongst your race. Exiled to the pits of Hell. My army is finally complete – and it shall take the earth!"


End file.
